It started with a storm.
The clouds over the human world turned black without warning, so black that the city lights seemed to dim beneath them. A jagged thread of lightning tore across the sky, followed by a deep, rolling thunder that seemed to shake the bones of the earth.
Lucien stood in the shadows of an abandoned train station, half-hidden by the crumbling pillars and the smell of rusted iron. He'd been passing through, keeping to himself as always, when the sky ripped open.
It wasn't just a storm. Something was falling.
He knew the stories; everyone in Bridgetowne did, but this didn't look like the descendants from the old days, when angels would come down in silent grace. This was different. Violent. Uncontrolled.
The fire in the sky burned strangely, not orange or red but gold streaked with white and blue. It shimmered like sunlight reflected off water, alive in a way that normal flames weren't. No smoke rose from it, only light, fierce, and unyielding.
And then there was the scent.
Lucien caught it on the wind: ash, roses, and something else. Something older than either, older than the bridges, older than the world. Something holy. It settled in his chest like a memory he didn't want to remember.
The light vanished as suddenly as it had come.
The storm didn't fade, but the noise did. The city went silent in that unnatural way that told him trouble was still close.
Lucien stepped out of the station's shadow. His boots splashed through puddles as he followed the fading glow down the cracked street, past shuttered windows and flickering lamps. The air was colder here.
The trail ended at the edge of a park.
It should have been alive with noise, traffic in the distance, dogs barking, the rustle of trees. Instead, there was nothing. No footsteps. No voices. Just the faint crackle of dying flame.
The park's fountain lay in ruins. Stone shattered. Water gone. Steam rose from the dry basin in slow, curling streams. At its center, she lay.
Lucien stopped.
Her wings were no longer fire. Feathers, pure white at the base, fading to gold at the tips, glowed faintly in the dark. One was bent at an unnatural angle; the other hung limp, torn through. Silver hair spilled across the stone, catching what little light there was.
She was young, at least in the way mortals measured years. But her face… it carried the weight of centuries. No armor, no weapons. Just a simple white dress, singed black at the hem.
She wasn't fragile. She looked like a blade, beautiful, but forged for battle.
Lucien took a step closer, careful not to make a sound.
Her lips moved. A whisper, too soft for the wind to steal away. He leaned down.
"Please…" Her voice was hoarse, but it carried something sharp beneath the weakness. "Don't let them take me."
Her eyes opened.
Gold. Not the gold of coins or sunlight, this was molten, burning, alive. The kind of light you couldn't look at for too long without feeling exposed.
Lucien's breath caught.
Then the air shifted.
It was subtle at first, a drop in temperature, the faint taste of iron. Then the wrongness flooded in all at once. The shadows thickened, curling unnaturally.
They stepped out from the trees.
Three of them. Tall. Thin. Skin the color of cooling ash. Their eyes burned red, but without warmth. Wings of black smoke curled and shifted behind them. Each step they took left the grass beneath their feet dead and gray.
Demons.
Lucien's body reacted before his mind caught up. His hand went to the silver dagger inside his coat.
The girl stirred, wincing as she tried to rise. "You're… not one of them."
"No." His voice was quiet, edged. "But I'm not one of you either."
Her gaze stayed on him, searching. "Then… why help me?"
Lucien didn't answer. He didn't have one that made sense.
Instead, he stepped away from her and toward the demons. His fangs slid down with a quiet, familiar click.
The lead demon tilted its head, studying him. "Vampire." Its voice was low, dry as burning paper.
Lucien didn't speak. He just drew the dagger, letting the silver catch the faint light. The old hunger stirred in him, but this wasn't about feeding.
This was about the way his heart had moved when she'd looked at him. The first time it had done so in a hundred years.
The girl's voice was barely above a breath behind him. "They'll kill me."
"Not tonight," Lucien said.
The demons spread out, forming a loose circle. Their movements were slow, confident, like predators that had never known failure. The air grew heavier with each step they took.
Lucien shifted his weight, watching them the way he might watch a duel, measuring, anticipating. His grip on the dagger tightened.
The first one moved.
It lunged without warning, claws reaching for his throat. Lucien sidestepped, bringing the dagger up in a smooth arc. The blade caught in the demon's shoulder. The creature hissed, the wound smoking where silver met flesh.
The other two closed in, faster now.
Lucien kicked the first one away and spun, catching a clawed hand on the flat of his blade before driving his knee into the demon's ribs. Bone cracked. The smell of sulfur filled the air.
The third one tried to bypass him entirely, heading for the girl.
Her wing twitched. She raised her arm in a weak, instinctive ward, but the demon was nearly on her.
Lucien moved without thinking. One step, two, and he was between them, dagger flashing. The blade opened the demon's throat in a single stroke. Black smoke poured from the wound as the creature staggered back.
The girl's golden eyes stayed on him, unblinking.
The lead demon snarled. "She's marked. You can't save her."
Lucien bared his fangs. "Watch me."
They came at him together after that, desperate now, angry. But the fight had already shifted. Lucien's movements were quick, precise. He wasn't fighting like a man defending himself. He was fighting like someone protecting something he couldn't afford to lose.
When the last one fell, dissolving into smoke and ash, the park was silent again.
Lucien turned back to the girl.
She was sitting up now, though her bent wing still dragged limply behind her. She studied him as if trying to decide what he was.
"You didn't have to," she said.
"I know."
The storm rumbled above them, but Lucien didn't look up. His gaze stayed on her, the way her light seemed to push back the shadows without even trying.
Something about her was dangerous. He knew that already. But danger had never stopped him before.
"Can you stand?" he asked.
She nodded faintly, though her eyes betrayed the truth.
Lucien reached out a hand. She hesitated, then took it. Her skin was warm against his, even through the chill.
Somewhere in the distance, sirens began to wail. But here, in the ruined fountain's glow, Lucien knew one thing with absolute certainty.
Bridgetowne had just changed forever.